The Avengers: Rise of the Heroes
by Conner M. Leach
Summary: An epic new version of the long-loved Marvel Avengers group, this time with completely new rules. Forget the characters you know and love, because this universe has all original back-stories and all new characters. Watch as Iron Man, Quicksilver, Hawkeye, Groot, Magik, and Iron Fist take on one of the most dangerous villains this Earth has ever encountered.
1. Chapter One: Conversations

The sky was dark, or it would have been if not for the brilliantly bright lights all over the Los Angeles skyline. All across the city, the shining beacons that represented the growth of all technology and mankind shone like a star. To some, it was beautiful. But to Mr. Stark, it was a mess. No, for Mr. Stark each and every one of those lights stood for another unrenewable gallon of oil that would never come back. It stood for the slobs too lazy to try and make the world a better place, it stood for the unbelievable corporate greed that shoved shocking facts under their wallets where no one would find them, it stood for the eventually extinction of all humanity due to the absurd contribution to global climate change. For Mr. Stark, those lights were the enemy.

But that was enough of that, Mr. Stark thought. Sighing, he walked away from the window and stroked his chin, the dark brown hair catching his fingers briefly. It was nicely air conditioned in his house, despite the likely blistering heat outside. Mr. Stark untied his bowtie and threw it onto the lush blankets and pillows that made his bed. Tonight had been a long night, lots of arguing with the members of the board at his company, Stark Industries. Once again, there was a series of corporate pigs that did not want Mr. Stark to go through with his plan to use the Arc Reactors to power the entire city for free. The renewable energy of the reactors were so cheap that the company needed only to increase the price of their regular wares by a few dollars to be able to efficiently run the Reactors for the next ten years at least.

The board of executives in Stark Industries, however, were stuck in the past. They cared not for the idea of a greener planet, but in the idea that the more money they acquired the more power they had. Mr. Stark knew this to be folly; he had been born into money, he had been raised with money, he had always had his money at his side. But here was the proof that money could not accomplish everything.

"That's just not what this company stands for," Mr. Hammer had said during the discussion.

Mr. Stark frowned at the memory. "As if you know what this company stands for," he whispered to himself. "As if you grew up hearing your father talk about this company as though it could walk on water, just to have him die and all of his dreams with it." Plopping down on his bed, Mr. Stark began to remove his shoes as he heard a knock on the door.

"Tony," came the familiar voice of Hogan, one of Stark's oldest friends and a member of the board of executives. "Hey, I tried catching you after the meeting, but—"

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Mr. Stark remarked, holding up a polite hand. "There was nothing we were going to be able to say to dissuade those morons."

Hogan smiled a bit. "True. That Hammer has them all under his thumb it seems."

"No, it's not Hammer who I'm worried about, to be honest with you," Mr. Stark admitted. "No, it's Norman. Ever since we merged OsCorp and Stark Industries, things have started leaning more his way than mine. That's quiet alright though. Sometimes, that happens in life."

Nodding, Mr. Stark offered, "Would you like a drink? I had Jarvis go out and buy us some scotch this afternoon."

"Both of us?" Hogan asked suspiciously.

"Well, no," Mr. Stark sighed, "just me."

With an understanding nod, Hogan slapped Mr. Stark on the back. "I know you're officially my boss and all that, Tony, but I'm going to impart on you some advice: go see a doctor, man, or something. I was talking to Jarvis downstairs. He's worried. You've been stressing over this 'going green' campaign for weeks now."

"It's something my father wanted to get done, it's something my brother tried fighting for before he left, it's something I want," Mr. Stark hissed. "This is the Stark-family dream. It's the legacy Howard Stark wanted to leave on the world when he built this company."

"I know it is," Hogan responded with an understanding smile. "But it's going to take some bulldogging for that to happen. C'mon man, we grew up together. You know that I'm with you to the end of the line."

Another knock on the door, and Mr. Stark and Hogan turned to see the squat Edwin Jarvis enter the room. "Ah! Mr. Stark, Mr. Hogan, can I get either of you some tea?"

"Jarvis, it's nearly midnight," Mr. Stark chuckled, "why are you still here?"

"I was asked to stay late tonight, Mr. Stark," Jarvis reminded him.

Smiling at his forgetfulness, Mr. Stark replied, "Yes, you are very correct, I'm sorry. Well, you're free to go whenever you wish. Tell your daughter I said hi."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis remarked quickly. "I will see you tomorrow morning, sir."

"Tomorrow it is," Mr. Stark promised.

"Goodnight, Edwin," Hogan shouted at the butler as he limped away. After the poor man was gone, Hogan rolled his eyes. "Jesus, when he is going to retire?"

"Hopefully not anytime soon," Mr. Stark admitted. "He can be a bit much, but he's been with the family for years. Plus his daughter is a nice little thing."

"How old would she be now?"

"Twenty-four," Mr. Stark answered, a little too quickly. "She changed her name though, so that she'd have Edwin's last name."

"She didn't before?" Hogan asked, a little surprised.

"Well, Edwin and Virginia, the mother, they never got married," Mr. Stark explained. "And since the mom raised the girl, she had the mother's last name. But now she took her father's name, which is for the best. Pepper Jarvis sounds way better to me than Potts."

"Pepper Potts?" asked Hogan. "Was that really her name?"

Mr. Stark snorted a little. "Yes, it was. Sounds a little silly, doesn't it? Anyway, don't you have somewhere to be too? It is rather late."

Hogan smiled. "I'm sure my cat can wait a few more hours, Tony. But if that was your polite way of asking me to leave early, don't worry, I'll be off soon. But you promised me a scotch."

Smiling, Mr. Stark nodded, and headed over to the small bar inside of his bedroom. He began to poor them both some drinks, as Hogan continued forth, "So, I overheard some of the execs talking after the meeting, Tony. It sounds like you're going to have some trouble coming your way fairly soon."

"You don't say?" Mr. Stark sighed. "What, are they going to try and fire me? I'm still the majority share-holder."

"No, no, nothing like that at all," Hogan explained. "More, physical. I'm not sure. But I didn't like the sounds of it."

Mr. Stark frowned. "That's bad, isn't it? Violence against one of their superiors."

The explosion that followed could be heard from miles away.

Opening his eyes slightly, Mr. Stark realized that he was leaning against the wall of this bedroom, right underneath his shelves of liquor. Something was in his left eyes, but he could tell if it was blood or alcohol. Looking around the room, he saw that all of the windows were destroyed and broken, his bed was on fire, and there was a massive hole in the floor. Angrily, Mr. Stark attempted to stand, only to find that his leg was broken. Growling, he remembered that Hogan was somewhere near.

"Harry!" he shouted, but his voice did not go far as the second explosion came.

This time, Mr. Stark was virtually unharmed, due to the shelter of the bar he was now hiding behind; a few bottles that had not already been broken or grounded fell near him, and he managed to catch one bottle of wine that he received as a Christmas present one year, but that was the worst of his casualties. But he could not see Hogan anywhere.

Using his bar as a crutch, Mr. Stark managed to get to his feet, where he looked around with a better view; there was a new hole in the floor, just as wide as the first, and looking down inside of them as best he could from his position, he noticed that the holes seemed to go all the way down to the lowest levels of his house. Looking at the ceiling, he took note that the holes had corresponding holes in there as well.

"Hogan!" Mr. Stark screamed once more. "Harry! Hogan! Where are ya, damn it? HOGAN!?" he bellowed.

Three men in black walked into the room. Each of them were wearing masks and Mr. Stark could not make out their faces whatsoever.

"Are you Anthony Stark?" one of them asked.

Sneering at them, Mr. Stark refused to speak.

"It's gotta be," one of the others remarked. "Look at him, he looks like the guy from the magazines."

"Alright," the first one said, drawing a pistol with a silencer and pointing it at Mr. Stark. "We're very sorry about this, Mr. Stark."

Then, out of nowhere, Hogan came and tackled the gunmen to the ground; the gunmen's head hit the side of the flaming bed, rendering him unconscious. Hogan stood up and drew his own small revolver, pointing it at the other two.

"Put your weapons down gentlemen," Hogan shouted.

One of the masked men was about to, but the second stopped him. "This guy is weak, he ain't got it in him to—"

Hogan fired his gun then, the bullet hitting the poor masked man in the forehead.

The remaining man gulped and tried running away. Hogan got down on one knee, drew a breath, and fired; the bullet went through the running man's ankle, and he dropped. As soon as his shoulder hit the ground, the final masked man began to fire in Hogan's direction. Feeling a spur of bravery, Mr. Stark took the wine bottle he had and threw it, hitting the masked man in the head.

"Got'cha!" Mr. Stark nearly shouted, but when he looked at Hogan, he saw his friend was now lying on the ground. Limping over to his friend as best he could with his broken leg, Mr. Stark realized that Hogan had been shot several times, but the worst one was certainly in his chest, right where the heart would have gone.

"No, no, no," Mr. Stark whimpered, "no, this isn't happening. Harry! Harry! Stay with me, damnit, Harry."

As he panicked, he had an idea. More or less crawling to what was left of his small work station in his room, he grabbed a miniature Arc Reactor he had been working on; Mr. Stark crawled back to his friend, and growled at him, "You better hope this fucking works, Harold Hogan, because this is your only chance."

With that, Mr. Stark took out his pocket knife and did his best to perform a very gruesome surgery on his oldest friend; after cutting open the chest, he inserted his Arc Reactor right next to the heart. After a few final adjustments, Harry's eyes opened slightly.

"Tony," he groaned. "What's going on?"

"We're safe, Harry!" Mr. Stark nearly cried as he placed his arms around his friend's shoulders. "Damn it, man, we're safe."

Just as Mr. Stark and Hogan began to fall asleep, the paramedics arrived and got Hogan put onto a stretcher to go to the hospital. As Mr. Stark felt himself get lifted to make his way to the hospital as well, he tried his best to think of those three masked men: who were they? How did they get into his home? Why were they trying to kill him?

But the bigger question now was: was Hogan going to live?


	2. Chapter Two: Hospital Flowers

"_In other news, last night around midnight, the home of Anthony Stark, CEO and President of Stark Industries, was destroyed in an attack that was carried out by three seemingly random men. Harold 'Happy' Hogan, a member of the board of executives at Stark Industries was present during the event, and had helped to take down the three men before the authorities arrived. Of the three men, one was killed and the other two are now in the hospital, suffering varying injuries. The deceased was a German plumber who had moved to Seattle a year ago to pursue a career in digital design, a man named Herman Schultz. The other two, a Florida-native Chon Li and the Los Angeles-native Clint Barton, are being interrogated by the authorities."_

"I don't know what kind of rubbish all of this is," Mr. Stark growled at the television. "How did three people living so far away get together to blow up my house?"

"We're not sure right now, Mr. Stark," Detective Jameson replied, "but don't worry, we're trying to figure it out as best we can."

"Were they working alone?" Mr. Stark barked.

"According to Mr. Li, they were acting of their own accord," Detective Jameson responded. "The other, Mr. Barton, is refusing to speak."

Mr. Stark rubbed his forehead. It had been a long night in the hospital. "Alright. Thank you. Can you send in the doctor on your way out, please?"

"Of course, Mr. Stark," the policeman said. "If you have any more questions, this is my card." With that, Detective Jameson left the room, leaving Mr. Stark alone.

The hospital smelled like lavender and death, Mr. Stark thought. He had not been able to see Hogan yet, which he despised. Hopefully that would change.

Fairly soon, a tall, handsome man walked into the room. "Mr. Stark, it's good to see you awake," the man said, his hands inside his lab coat. "I'm Dr. Strange, I've been working on you and your friend, Mr. Hogan."

"How is he, doctor?"

Dr. Strange sighed. "Well, that's part of the problem. You're quick-thinking by placing that Reactor in his heart, that's the only thing keeping him alive. We've taken the bullet out, but we're afraid that removing the Reactor will stop his heart entirely."

"So, make sure that he gets put on the list to receive a heart transplant," Mr. Stark murmured calmly.

"We've done that already," Dr. Strange admitted. "He's on the list. But it's a year-long waiting list. I could pull some strings, but that might only put him a half dozen names up on the list. He'll have a long time to wait."

Mr. Stark cursed under his breath. "So, what do we do until then?"

"Well, there's good news about that actually," Dr. Strange assured him. "You're handiwork seriously saved his life. He wouldn't have made it out of your house if you hadn't done that. So, he'll live, probably very comfortably, until we get him a new heart. But if the Arc Reactor malfunctions or runs out of energy or is removed, Mr. Hogan will die."

Nodding his understanding, Mr. Stark asked, "Doctor, do you mind if I go and see him?"

"Not at all," Dr. Strange replied. "Let's go get you a wheelchair for that leg, eh?"

A short while later, Dr. Strange returned with a fancy-looking wheelchair and Mr. Stark struggled into it. "Tell me," Mr. Stark said, "how long have you worked here, Dr. Strange?"

"Just a few years," he replied. "After six months living in Greenwich as a surgeon, I was asked to come here. I've been told I'm one of the best."

"Are you?"

Dr. Strange smiled slightly. "Not that I mean to brag, but yes. I am. Steadiest hands in the business."

"When will I be able to leave the hospital?" Mr. Stark questioned.

"If you take this chair with you, I'll let the right people know that you can go in the morning," Dr. Strange replied.

"Good," Mr. Stark muttered. "I have some things I need to go through."

Finally, they arrived at Hogan's room. Dr. Strange opened the door and Mr. Stark rolled in.

"Tony," Hogan wheezed. "Word on the street is you saved my life."

He may have saved Hogan's life, Mr. Stark thought, but it did not look like it. One of Hogan's eyes was swollen shut, his front teeth both chipped, and his arm was in a sling. Bruises covered the poor man all over. The massive six-foot-four frame of Hogan looked broken and beaten, as it very well was.

"Harry," Mr. Stark began, "how ya feeling?"

"I've been better, but I sure as hell have been worse," Hogan replied. "Remember college? I used to box all the time, and there was that fight with that big guy. What was his name? Murdock? Anyway, he whooped my ass. This ain't nothing compared to that fight, but I've never had a bullet inside me before."

Mr. Stark smiled. "Murdock did indeed beat you pretty badly, eh?"

They both laughed a bit. "I just want to know who attacked you and why," Hogan sighed. "That's the only thing I can think. Three random thugs got into your basement, and blew up your house. What is that?"

"I'm not sure," Mr. Stark admitted. "But I have an idea."

Hogan raised his eyebrow as best he could. "What's that, Tony?"

"I want to find out who almost killed the two of us," Mr. Stark started, "but I can't do it in my condition. So I think you and I are going to need to pull our resources together to start something of an espionage branch for Stark Industries."

"What do you have in mind?"

"The Stark-Hogan International Espionage Legal Division," Mr. Stark replied, his eyes lighting up. "It'll be an organization that is hired to find out certain things about various people."

"You mean a commercial private investigation company?"

"That's exactly what I mean!" Mr. Stark sang. "And they're first mission is going to be to figure out why on Earth we were attacked, how they got into my house, and who sent them."

Hogan nodded. "That's a good idea. But you'd have to get the idea approved by the rest of the board."

Mr. Stark thought that over. "That's not the best idea. Something about letting our board of executives know seems like a bad idea."

"Because you suspect one of them did it?" asked Hogan.

A nod was the response.

"I had that feeling too," Hogan admitted, looking down. "I don't trust many of the board members, to be honest with you. They all seem suspicious."

"I agree," Mr. Stark stated. "So it will be best if our actions go unnoticed. But I'm going to let you rest while I get some ideas going on of who we can get to work with us."

"Do you have any ideas on who you might want to work with us on this?" asked Hogan seriously.

"I have at least one potential candidate," Mr. Stark replied. "But I'm going to need to pull some strings to get him."


	3. Chapter Three: Central Park

Richard walked down the road, a bag of various school supplies in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other. Between sips of his soda, he would whistle various little tunes. It was a beautiful day in New York; the sun was brilliantly shining, the clouds were on vacation, and the birds were singing their own songs.

Turning on the next street by a deli, Richard took several feet to realize he had made a wrong turn; he had accidentally gone one street up and now found himself in an unfamiliar alleyway. As he turned around to go back the way he came, he saw a burly man wearing a black jacket and a hat. The man in black had his hand in one pocket and the other hand was clenched in a fist. Frowning, Richard realized he would not be able to get around the man easily.

"Excuse me, sir?" Richard asked. "I just realized I made a wrong turn, do you mind if I get around you so I can get home. My wife is expecting me soon."

The man pulled out his knife and tried to stab Richard; the former dropped his bag of groceries and stepped backwards, his adrenaline levels rising. The man rushed forward and was about to stab Richard again when a silver blur came from nowhere and the man who had the knife was thrown against the wall and his knife had disappeared. Richard, astonished, looked around to see what had happened when all of a sudden, he saw a young man standing above him.

Tall, thin, and strangely handsome, the man was one who Richard recognized instantly; Pietro Maximoff, one of the crown jewels of New York. His silver hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his long, hooked nose was covered in silver nasal strips. Maximoff smiled, his teeth white and brilliant, and offered Richard a hand. Taking it thankfully, Maximoff helped Richard off the ground.

"Pietro Maximoff," the young man said, shaking hands with his recently saved companion.

"Richard Parker," the man replied. "You're the guy on the news all the time?"

"I try my best to be," Maximoff replied. Richard scratched the back of his head; Maximoff talked fast. "Anyway, where do you live, man? I'll walk back with you to make sure no more second-rate punks mess with you."

"Just a bit away from here, actually," Richard answered. "Are you going to go all _vroom-vroom_?"

"Well, no, that'd be rude," was Maximoff's response. "Tell me, Mr. Parker, what do you do for a living?"

"I work at OsCorp," Richard answered. "You?"

"I'm a superhero," Maximoff stated proudly. "It's loads of fun."

Richard nodded. "I imagine it is. How did you get your powers, Mr. Maximoff?"

"Please, call me Pietro. And I'm not really sure. I didn't have them one day, and the next I did. It was rather exhilarating. I enjoy it though, even though it is a little hard to handle. Everyone is so _slow_, man, you can't even imagine."

Frowning, Richard asked, "Have you ever considered going to someone who may be able to help? I mean, OsCorp has an amazing genetics program, and if you were born being able to use the powers you have—"

"No way, Jose," Maximoff interrupted. "I don't do big corporations. They're filled with corrupt billionaires and stuffy pencil-pushers. I work alone."

"Alright, it was just an offer," Richard explained. He stopped in front a dingy apartment building. "This is it. My home."

"You work at OsCorp and you live in this rathole?" asked Maximoff, turning his head slightly.

Nodding, Richard remarked, "It's cheap and it's big. That's all I need for now. Hopefully I get transferred to the Oregon factories next month though. My son was just born and I'd rather not raise him in this city."

Maximoff nodded understandingly.

"Shit!" Richard growled. "I forgot my bag in the alleyway—"

"This one?" Maximoff asked, handing Richard the bag of school supplies. "If your son was just born, why do you have school supplies?"

"My wife is a science teacher at Midtown High," Richard answered. "Did you just—"

"—Run back and grab this bag in the middle of your sentence? You bet cha!"

"Well, you're welcome in my home anytime you want, Pietro," Richard commented. "Thank you for saving me and walking me home and grabbing my bag. It's been quite a day. I don't think anyone is going to believe that I met you."

"Well, let's see," Maximoff grumbled, putting his hands inside of his pockets and pulling out a camera phone. Before Richard knew what was happening, Maximoff had taken a picture and asked, "Do you have a Facebook? I'll tag you in the picture."

"Uh, yes," Richard replied. His phone vibrated.

"There ya go!" Maximoff replied. "I just put the picture up. Anyway, I've gotta run, but I'll catch you later, I'm sure."

With that, Pietro Maximoff was gone.

Richard walked up to his apartment and smiled to himself. He had just met Pietro Maximoff. Life was good.

Pietro Maximoff, however, was not having the best day. As he raced through the streets of New York City looking for work to be done, he was once again bored with the results. Everything seemed to be overly okay; no muggings, no rip-offs, no robberies or interesting court cases and _Doctor Who _wasn't showing any reruns. Sighing to himself as he zipped around town, he decided to go hang out in the park.

Which turned out to be a mighty fine decision, for the moment he arrived at the park, a group of armored mercenary-looking fellows walked into the park too. One of them started shouting, "Alright, we're going to need everyone to leave this area of the park until we're finished!" Then, turning to the tallest of the men, the shouter ordered, "Get some police tape, close off this whole area until we're done checking it."

"What's the beef, bro?" Maximoff asked after he found himself in front of the shouter with his wallet in his hands. "You work for OsCorp?"

"I do," the shouter growled. "Who are you?"

"It's amazing how rude some people can be and how nice others can be," Maximoff noted. "I've met two people who work at OsCorp today." Maximoff opened the shouter's wallet and began looking through it. "Well, well. Head of OsCorp Security, Emil Blonsky! That's a cool name, are you Russian?"

Blonsky sneered. "Get out of here, this is a private investigation."

"Are you allowed to be using police tape to secure areas when you're not the police?" Maximoff asked. Blonsky lifted his gun.

"I'm allowed to kill you," Blonsky told him.

Maximoff laughed. "You're allowed to try."

Blonsky began to fire his gun, but Maximoff was much faster than any bullet. Speeding through the park at incredible speeds, he grabbed the bullets and aimed them towards the ground so they did not go and hit civilians. Then, he stopped in front of the armed guards, who each had their guns trained on Maximoff.

"What the fuck are you?" Blonsky spat.

"I'm Pietro Maximoff," the speedster replied with a smile and a wink. "Just call me Pietro. Now, I'm just going to ask that you leave, because anyone who would fire lethal firearms in a public place like _Central Park _needs to go home and take a nap."

Blonsky and his men fired. Once again, Maximoff ran around and stopped the bullets, neutralizing them by having them hit the dirt. As Maximoff ran to attack them, he found his fist collide with the jaw of the first as he grabbed the guns from the remaining guards, making sure to keep Blonsky conscious.

Dropping the guns at the ground at his feet, Maximoff said, "You guys are gonna have to try much, _much _harder to take me out. Now, what's going on here?"

But instead of replying, Blonsky drew a knife and charged forward attempting to stab Maximoff. Maximoff rolled his eyes and ran forward just as a bomb exploded.

Rolling on the ground, Maximoff looked up to his right shoulder covered in small embers. "What the hell happened?" Maximoff asked himself, as he moved so he was leaned up against a tree.

Blonsky walked out from the flames and black smoke that took up the space Blonsky and his men had been standing in. The right arm was missing and his was limping severely. But he was growling as though it were just a flesh wound.

"I was not expecting to have to use that on you," Blonsky spat. "No, in fact, I was hoping I didn't need to. But look at you. Too quick for regular fighting."

Maximoff sighed, about to stand, but realized that his ankle was wounded. Blonsky's smile widened. "Yeah, I figured that'd happen. You're stuck, now, aren't you?" Pulling out his pistol, Blonsky aimed it at Maximoff's forehead. "Say goodbye, freakshow."

What Maximoff was not expecting to have happen was the tree he found himself leaning against to smash one of its arms into Blonsky, knocking the captain to the ground and disarming him.

"There you are, you son-of-a-bitch," Blonsky spat, jumping to his feet. At the same time, the tree also got to its feet, much to Maximoff's surprise. Blonsky pulled a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin and threw it; the tree caught it and smashed it on the ground. Without a trace of fear in his eyes, Blonsky pulled out a knife and charged the tree; but the tree was not scared, and pinned the soldier to the ground with his tree-feet. Blonsky let go of his knife and closed his eyes, either too tired or too injured to carry on.

Maximoff managed to stand, and he looked at the tree. "Holy shit, are you real?" he mused out loud.

The tree turned to him, revealing disturbingly human features. "I am Groot."


	4. Chapter Four: Iron Fist

There was a knock on the door. Daniel sighed; it was not the right time. Standing up, he walked over to the door and opened it. Standing just inside the door was Norman Osborn, the founder of OsCorp and currently a member of the board of executives at Stark Industries after the billionaire bought OsCorp less than a year ago.

"Mr. Rand," Osborn growled, walking into the room. Daniel rolled his eyes; it was impossible for him to ignore the might of Osborn.

"We have a situation," Osborn continued. "OsCorp needs more funding for our glider project."

"Norman," Daniel interrupted, "I thought I made it clear that if Stark bought your company I would not continue to fund that project. Rand International is a recreational company, we make jet-skis and skateboards. The glider you designed was military."

"We took away military applications," Osborn spat.

"But then Stark bought OsCorp," Daniel reminded. "Ask him for the funding. We'll give you everything we own concerning the project back as soon as possible. I'll sign a contract for it if necessary. Kind of like the one you signed when we started this whole thing."

Norman Osborn stepped closer to Daniel. The height difference was immense, with Osborn towering about Daniel Rand by a good foot. "I do not suggest you making enemies here, Rand," Osborn warned. "I've got powerful friends."

"You mean like the ones who destroyed Stark's house?" Daniel asked. Osborn opened his mouth to speak, but Rand cut him off, "I won't tell anyone unless they ask. But you're not as clever as you seem to think you are. Now please, go away. You'll get your toys soon."

Angrily, Osborn walked out, slamming the door behind him. Daniel sighed. He frowned and went into his room to put on his pajamas. As he laid down, he wondered what might happen to him tonight.

_She ran across the field, jumping and ducking and side-stepping and doing everything she could to not fall. As she ran, she heard the shouting behind her._

"_Get back here you wench!" one of the men screamed before firing off a couple of rounds._

_Smiling, she kept running as the bullets just missed her. Daniel frowned; he hated when she was being chased like this._

"_Hello again, old friend," she said to him. "I've been waiting for you to fall asleep."_

_Daniel smiled. "Do you need some help?"_

"_That'd be nice."_

_Slowly, Daniel moved back towards the men chasing her. They wore the black outfits, used the OsCorp-patented rifles, and one of them Daniel recognized as one of Norman's personal favorites, a man named Jenkins._

_With a ferocious might, Daniel threw all three men backwards onto their backs. Then, he wrecked their guns before he knocked them all out and went back to the woman._

"_Thanks again, Iron Fist," she remarked with a smile. "When will I ever see you in person? I get tired of running at night, waiting for you to come rescue me."_

_Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. I'm working on getting you here, but Osborn wants you badly. He came over today."_

"_Did he?" she asked._

"_Don't worry," Daniel responded. "I made sure that I didn't say anything about you. But I did use that information about Stark's house that you mentioned. He seemed upset by it, which is proof enough of its validity."_

_She frowned. "Have you thought of talking to this Anthony Stark?"_

"_About what?"_

"_Well, perhaps he has ideas. Perhaps he can help us figure out what's going on with this prophecy or perhaps he doesn't know who attacked him. I do believe it is the kindest thing to do."_

_Daniel thought about that for a bit. "Maybe. For now, I'll just try my best to keep Osborn at bay."_

"_Which has been loads of help, actually," she said. "Also, has there been any news on Piotr?"_

"_I can't seem to find any sort of information about him whatsoever," Daniel admitted. "But I've got my men on it nonetheless."_

"_Thank you, Iron Fist," she replied, with a smile. "I cannot wait to see you in person."_

"_Let's hope you'll be as impressed as you are when I'm in my dream stage," Daniel muttered._

"_I can't imagine I won't be," she said. Then she flicked her hand and a bright pink circle appeared with bustling city inside of it. "Good night, Iron Fist. I will talk to you tomorrow night."_


End file.
